by David Archer
The sandwich wasn't much, but Sam didn't want a big breakfast weighing him down, not this morning. He already had the disadvantage of his hip, so he wanted to be as light on his feet and as quick on his reflexes as he possibly could. Academy training had shown him that a light breakfast before any heavy activity was always best, and he'd never forgotten it.
He walked through his house and wondered if he would ever see it again. The living room where Kenzie played, with her toys scattered around it; the kitchen where they ate almost every meal, unless their mothers came over. He walked out to the office and looked at the desk where he and Indie had been sitting together less than twenty-four hours ago, when Caleb had called to invite them to church…
There was a page on the screen of Indie's computer, and Sam sat down and looked at it. It was a list of links, the kind of screen that Herman always displayed when Indie told him to search for information. He glanced at the top of the screen to see what the original query had been, and then a chill went down his spine. It read, “SEEK 'Indianhead Mattress Co.' AND 'Denver CO' AND 'Warehouse' AND 'Division Street' AND 'blueprints'.”
Indie had said that Herman had been doing things he shouldn't be capable of doing, and this looked like one of them, but at the moment Sam could only be grateful. He wouldn't have known how to find this kind of information, but hopefully, Indie's super-smart computer did.
Sam clicked the first link, and a set of building drawings came up on the screen. He had to think it through, recalling his few moments in the warehouse, but the drawings were definitely of the same building, and he began studying it.
Besides the eight big doors that were designed to let trucks be loaded and unloaded from the building, there were four other entrances. One went into the office area, and two went into the main warehouse—it was through one of those that he and other police and federal agents had entered the day he was shot—and one more opened from an alley into a workshop, where warehouse equipment would have been serviced and repaired.
Unger would have all of these doors covered. What Sam needed was to find another way in, a way that the killer would not be expecting. He studied the drawings carefully, and then realized that he was looking at only the ground floor. He clicked back, then clicked the second link on the page, and saw another set of drawings open up.
The building was only two stories tall, and this set of drawings showed the second floor. There were no actual doors leading out of this level, but Sam noted that there were two fire escapes attached to windows, the kind with counterweighted ladders that would slide down and lock when someone's weight was put on them. Neither was accessible from the ground, however, and he doubted there would be any way he could reach one of them. Even standing on top of his truck would not get him high enough, so he kept looking.
He clicked another link, this one showing the utility schematics of the building. He saw what appeared to be an isometric view, like a three-dimensional wire frame view used in Computer Drafting programs to let you see various features of a building in their actual locations within it. This view also covered the roof of the building, and Sam zoomed in when he saw a hatch drawn in that led into the air ducts. By following the duct work, he saw that if he could get in through that hatch, he could easily get into the employee break room that was on the second floor. The air duct there was large enough for him to crawl through, and the design showed that the vent was actually a maintenance hatch, a door that he could open from inside or out.
The only question would be how to get onto the roof. Sam glanced at the time and saw that it was nearly seven, and he knew he'd have to leave within the next couple of minutes. He looked at the computer for a moment, and then closed the windows that were open.
He'd seen Indie feed data into Herman many times, and he knew that if he clicked the little icon on her desktop that looked like a picture of a cartoon mouse, Herman's interface would open up. He didn't actually know how to use the program, but he clicked on it anyway.
A page opened up that had an input box dead center on it, and he let his fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment. What have I got to lose? he asked himself, and then he typed, “How do I get on top of the Indianhead Mattress Warehouse on Division Street in Denver CO without going through the building?”
Herman displayed a caricature of a mouse with a finger tapping its chin, as if thinking, and then there was a ding, and a list of links appeared. Sam clicked on the first one, and saw a bird's eye view of that block of Division street appear.
The warehouse was marked with its name, and Sam looked at the buildings on either side. One was an office building for an insurance company, and it rose at least seven stories. He doubted there would be a window that would open onto the roof of the warehouse next door, and he couldn't jump or climb down from its roof, so he went back and looked closely at the one on the other side.
This building wasn't as tall, only three stories, and belonged to a real estate brokerage that was out of business. Unlike the insurance building, it was not directly attached to the warehouse, and had actual windows facing the roof. The gap between the two buildings wasn't more than four feet, Sam guessed from the picture. He could make a jump like that, even with his bad leg.
That was his ticket in, he thought. If he could get into that building, which shouldn't be too hard since it was sitting empty, then he could get onto the roof of the warehouse and make his way in through the ducts. He said, “Thank you, Herman!” and hurried out through the house. He grabbed his vest on the way, patting it to make sure he'd put the little forty-five in the hidden pocket.
He didn't bother getting the Corvette out, but went straight to the Ridgeline and climbed in. He started it up and backed out of his driveway, then turned it toward downtown and floored the accelerator.
The drive took him all of twenty minutes, and he arrived at just before seven thirty. He had no doubt that Unger was almost certainly inside the warehouse already, and he saw no sign that Karen was jumping the gun on him, so he felt sure that the game was about to come to an end, one way or another. If Sam could kill Unger, it would be over for sure, but he felt in his heart that, if things went the other way, Unger would be satisfied with Sam's death, and wouldn't bother his family anymore. There wouldn't be any point to it, and Unger seemed to be about making a point.
Perhaps someday, some psychiatrist would investigate the case and find out what motivated all of Unger's previous killings, but all Sam cared about was bringing his murderous career to an end. If he failed at that, then he could at least die with the knowledge that he'd done what it took to protect his family.
He parked a half block away and got out, walking close to the buildings so that he wouldn't be visible from a window in the warehouse. The empty real estate office was just ahead on his left, and he reached it in less than a minute, then looked the front door over. It was a normal double glass door, like so many office buildings use, and it was chained shut from the inside. That meant that whoever had done it came out through another door, and he stayed close to the building as he approached the narrow gap between the office building and the warehouse, then slipped into it.
He followed it to the end, and found himself at the back of the building. There was a door there, a standard “back entrance” type with a single doorknob that had a keyhole in its center. Sam tried the knob, but it was locked, of course, so he looked around for something he could use to break it. There was a four-foot-long piece of steel bar lying there, probably something used to prop the door open at one time or another, but Sam only saw it as a pry bar. He picked it up and considered using it like a sword, to try to bust off the knob, but that might not get him in and would make a lot of noise. Instead, he braced one end of it against the doorframe, and laid the bar across the top of the knob, then put all of his weight on its outer end.
The knob popped off as if it were made of plastic, snapping the locking mechanism out with it. Sam looked into the hole and saw that all he had to do was use a finger to
push the bolt aside, and then he was in the building.
It was dark inside, and he took out his phone to use as a light as he found the stairs that led up to the third floor. The higher he went, the lighter it got inside, as light from the second- and third-floor windows came in, and a moment later he found an office that overlooked the roof of the warehouse next door.
The gap between the two buildings seemed negligible in the photos, and when he was walking through it, but from up here, it looked a bit like the Grand Canyon. He checked the window and saw that it was a simple latch, then studied the roof next door for a moment before he slid it open. He was sure that Unger was not on the roof, but he'd bet the man was on the second floor somewhere, so he wanted to make as little noise as he could.
He looked quickly around the rooms close by and found a narrow table that was at least ten feet long, with legs that folded under a steel frame. He picked it up and carried it back to the window he'd opened, then began to slide it carefully out over the open space between the buildings. By keeping all of his weight on the end close to him, he was just barely able to make it reach the top of the other building, but it was sloping so badly that he was afraid it would fall as soon as he got onto it. He pulled it back far enough to unfold the legs on his end, then pushed it back through, and the legs acted like a hook to hold it in place.
It was ten minutes to eight. He took a deep breath, said a short prayer thanking God for the family he had and asking, if it was God's will, to be able to see them again when this was over, then climbed onto the table and let himself slide down it to the roof of the warehouse.
He landed without making any serious noise, and walked slowly and carefully to the hatch he'd seen in the drawings. It dawned on him then that it might be locked, but he'd come too far to worry about that at this point, so when he got to it and saw that there was no lock through its hasp, he said another prayer of thanks, then tugged carefully upward.
Luck, or perhaps it was God, was with him, because it swung up without making a sound. Sam looked down into the hole and saw a ladder, so he climbed over the edge and started down. When he got to the bottom, he was careful to keep his feet out near the sides of the shaft, where they'd get the best support and be least likely to make the metal of the duct flex and pop, then lowered himself to his hands and knees.
The duct ahead was dark, but there was a small amount of light some distance ahead. The break room had a window, he recalled, and so a little light must be coming in that way. He began crawling, and that's when he remembered that crawling was one of those activities his physical therapist had warned him not to do.
Oh, well, he thought, too late now! He started off toward that slight glimmer of light, moving as slowly and quietly as he possibly could, refusing to give in to the pain that wanted to make him groan out loud. It took him two minutes to crawl the fifty feet to the vent in the break room, and he stopped and listened for a full minute before he pushed the latch and opened it up so that he could slide out onto the floor.
He heard a sound and froze, then carefully drew his own Glock from its holster. The sound had come from downstairs, he thought, so he began to move quietly toward where he knew the stairs would be from the blueprints he'd studied. As he walked through the hallway, he heard the sound again.
What was that? he thought. It wasn't metallic, it almost sounded like something soft striking something hard, but not with a lot of force. It was rhythmic, too, a repetitive sound that was almost like a steady beat, as if it were somehow mechanical, but not quite.
He stepped onto the first step leading down, and his luck ran out as it creaked loudly. He froze, but a moment later, he heard Unger's voice.
“Well, Sam,” the killer called out. “Seems like you found a way in that I didn't anticipate. That's clever of you; maybe you really are the man I thought you were in the beginning.”
Sam listened, but didn't reply. The sound seemed to be coming from somewhere to his right down below. He made his way on down the stairs and then stopped at the bottom, out of sight, his gun held high and at the ready.
“C'mon, Sam,” Unger called. “This'll get boring if I'm the only one talking. Though I don't think you can find me just by the sound of my voice; this place has some amazing acoustics, sounds just echo all over the place.”
Sam heard the rhythmic sound again, and tried to place it, but it still wasn't familiar enough to identify. He waited to see if Unger would speak again; even if he couldn't positively locate the man from his voice, he hoped to at least get a sense of which direction he was in. At the moment, he seemed to be off to the right of the staircase.
“Sam, you're not playing,” Unger said, and this time there seemed to be a touch of anger in his voice. “The whole purpose of this little scenario is to find out which of us is the better man. The one that leaves alive, well, he's the winner. Speak up, Sam, let me know you’re really here.”
“I'm here,” Sam shouted, counting on the volume of his voice to make it echo and throw Unger off a bit. “So, how do you want to do this? Old-west shootout style? Meet in a hallway and draw on the count of three?”
Unger laughed. “Now you're getting into the spirit, Sam,” he said, and Sam caught a split-second direct sound before the echoes began to reverberate around the building. Unger was somewhere toward the front of the building, but still to the right, Sam was sure. “We could do it that way, but I think of what I do as more of a hunt, you know, a stalking of my prey. I don't choose my targets randomly, Sam; there's always a reason why I decide on one of them, did you know that?”
Sam hesitated. The more he talked to this madman, the greater the chance that Unger would find him first. If he didn't, though, there was always the chance that the killer would decide he wasn't playing and leave; go after Indie again, or Kenzie. He couldn't let that happen.
“I figured there was a reason for each one,” he said loudly, “but I hadn't been able to figure any of them out. You've got me on that score.”
Unger chuckled, and the eerie sound of the laugh worked its way through the whole first floor. Sam looked around and realized that he was just outside the very area where he'd been shot, and suddenly he knew that this was where the showdown would take place.
“Let me give you a lesson in the mind of a serial killer, Sam. You see, the profilers all think they can figure us out by watching our victims and looking for patterns like gender, age group, hair color and such, but there are so many other things that can draw us to a target. In my case, I go for people who offend me in one way or another. Some of them are women who refused my attentions; some are men who interfered in my business plans; some of them were just people who cut me off in traffic, but every single one of them offended me in some way.”
Sam shook his head; Unger had what he would consider a God complex, feeling that he had the right to life or death over people who did not do what he wanted them to do. “Sounds like a pretty flimsy reason to kill someone, Unger,” he said. “What about Porter? How did he offend you?”
“Caleb Porter offends me by his very existence!” Unger spat. “He goes away to prison, and then comes back all saved and preaching the gospel, and everyone welcomes him with open arms! What about the people he bilked for millions of dollars? All you hear about are the ones he paid back, but not everyone got theirs, did you know that? But Caleb, he's all forgiven, now, and he's been on TV over and over, and met governors and the president, and everyone points to him and says, see, rehabilitation works! One of these days, someone's gonna get to looking closely at the church's books, and I think you'll find that Caleb Porter isn't any different than he was before he went to prison!”
The rhythmic sound came again, and this time, Sam could tell that it was coming from within the warehouse room itself, right where he'd been shot. He had made it to one of the doors that led into the room, and there was a small window in it, so he carefully popped his head up and peeked through it.
There was a chair, right in the middle of the flo
or, and Sam was looking at it from the back. He could tell that there was someone in it, and for a split second he was ready to burst through the door and open fire, empty his clip into Unger, but then he froze. Unger wouldn't be sitting there, especially since he knew Sam was coming from upstairs. The only way to the warehouse from the stairway was through this hall, and the chair was perfectly positioned to have its back to the doors.
Whoever was in that chair was there as a bait, and Sam had almost fallen for it. His anger at Indie's shooting had almost made him take what was probably an innocent person's life, and Sam couldn't handle that thought.
On the other hand, he knew then that he and Unger were not alone in the building, and when he looked again, he realized that the rhythmic sound he'd been hearing all along was from who ever was in the chair, thumping the back of it with his or her own head. That told him that whoever it was knew he was coming, and had been trying to warn him of the deception. He looked one more time, taking a couple of seconds to try to take in the whole picture, and that's when he saw the shoes. They were small, very small, though they looked like a man's uniform black shoe. There was only one person he knew who wore shoes like that, and she'd also be the only one who would have known that Sam was coming to the warehouse that morning.
Unger had Karen Parks as a hostage.
9
Sam leaned against the wall, thinking hard. If Unger had Karen, then he had to have taken her in the early hours, probably as she was leaving to go to work. She was known for sleeping in, now and then, so it might be a few hours before anyone missed her, and since she'd never made it to work, she wouldn't be setting up the surrounding Sam had asked for, so there was no help coming. This left it all between him and Unger, and Karen's life was probably intended to be another stake in the pot.